


in bloom

by NotPersephone



Series: Count and Countess Lecter [31]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Caring Hannibal, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Panic Attack, Pregnant Bedelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 07:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Bedelia gets overwhelmed by the prospect of caring for a child.





	in bloom

The row of soft toys on the mantle appears as if silent guardians of the vacant room, staring back at Bedelia in stoical anticipation. An anticipation for the occupant that is nowhere near her arrival.

Bedelia considers the strange menagerie of animals, from a koala to a lamb, some of them meant to serve as a gentle source of heat, others just an amusing plaything, but all of them cherry-picked and hand-made to ensure the highest of quality. Hannibal’s usual attention to detail shines through every item, but the randomness of objects in the room clearly betrays his excitement. The room is mostly empty, the space and walls a blank canvas waiting to be transformed into a nursery. There is no cradle, but there are already numerous toys and clothes. Bedelia smiles, looking at the proud display of his elation. It surprises her he managed to keep it at bay for a such a long time; the first purchases appeared only when she had reached her second trimester. Perhaps it was an echo of some old superstition, or perhaps he simply did not wish to overwhelm her; a sentiment she is utterly grateful for as her mind is yet to fully settle on what is to come.

She shifts in her spot, hands extending out pass her belly to rest on the smooth surface of the burred wood mantle. Her bump is barely showing still, despite her petite figure and the flourishing development of baby. “She will be as diminutive as her mama,” Hannibal announced proudly a few weeks back. He could barely contain his joy when they learned the sex of the baby; Bedelia was simply glad that the baby was healthy.

Considering the toys anew, she reaches for the small Steiff bunny, taking it in her hand. _It is cute_ , she thinks, turning the plush around, no further thoughts regarding the toy form in her mind. Deliberately designed to play on mind’s emotional side, a brain correlation she knows well, but Bedelia has never given into such sentiments herself.

Suddenly, the hand holding the plush begins to tingle. Bedelia places it back in its spot, then slowly closes and opens her fingers; this is not a typical pregnancy symptom as far as she knows. Focusing on her hand, she only now becomes aware that her pulse has increased; she hears the blood pulsing loudly in her ears. The blood that is not only hers now, but a shared stream for two hearts.

_Cute._ What if she feels the same about her child, not feeling anything at all?

A shower of chills washes over her back. Her heart flutters rapidly against her rib cage as if wanting to escape, overwhelmed by the prospect of affection. The breath becomes trapped alongside with it, an accidental hostage that Bedelia is unable to free. The room around her spins and blurs and Bedelia’s hand grabs the mantle, the last attempt of free her paralysed mind and return to the present moment.

“It is a tad much. I can return them if you wish,” Hannibal’s voice sounds from the threshold. He is only a few steps away, but she feels as though they were separated by miles. She is unable to breath, let alone speak.

“Bedelia?” he moves closer when she does not answer. His eyes sharp, he is immediately alert seeing her clinging onto the mantle with one hand while the other goes to her now hurting chest.

“Bedelia, look at me,” his hands rest firmly on her shoulders and he gently guides her to turn around.

She reluctantly releases her hold and faces him; she expects to see him utterly distressed by her state, one that might endanger their child. The thought only makes her shiver more, all control over her body and emotions lost. But the gaze that meets her is gentle and calm, the familiar gold-speckled maroon that always envelops her in warmth.

“Bedelia, breathe,” he speaks, quieter now that he has her attention, “Deep inhale and deep exhale,” his own chest raises and falls in tandem with his words, wanting her to follow his suit.

First breathe comes out ragged and almost painful, making Bedelia realise how long she has been holding it inside. Few shallow gasps for air follow, then she takes his cue, breathing slower and slower with each new intake of air. He takes her hands and places them on his chest, a welcoming anchor for her discombobulated mind.

“Close your eyes,” he prompts her further and she complies at once.

The empty room around them vanishes and she only senses Hannibal’s warm chest under her fingertips and his steady pulse drawing hers back from its relentless race. His arms come around her back and he pulls her in his embrace. The comfort of his hold slowly relaxes her tense body. She remains wrapped safely in his arms for a moment, until her breathing returns to normal.

“Is it the plush animals?” he asks with care when she finally lifts her head, “I will remove them at once,” he continues to hold her, as reassuring in his touch as words.

“No, it is not that,” she nuzzles his shoulder anew, soaking up his calming heat.

“What it is then?” his fingers graze her hair lovingly.

She remains silent, pressing her lips together to prevent them from trembling. Her body is recovering, yet her mind is anything but at ease. Waiting patiently, Hannibal does not press her further. Still, she is afraid to voice her fears, planted so deeply in her mind, their roots are impossible to remove.

“What if-” she speaks at last, but her voice breaks as her throat refuses to let the words out, “What if I can’t-” she feels tightness returning to her chest and she is unable to admit to her failing.

His arms encircle her closer and this time she remembers to breathe without his reminder. More minutes pass as Hannibal gives her all the time needed to compose herself. Only when she raises her head from his shoulder again, he moves his hand and gently cradles her face. She meets his tender gaze with an unnecessary firm stare of her own, trying to prevent any eager declaration of her capabilities that are surely to follow. But he only strokes her cheek, then places a kiss in the corner of her eye.

“I know I can be a bit overenthusiastic,” he whispers against her temple.

“No,” she swallows another sob rising in the back of her throat, “You are happy, and you should express it.”

The tightness in her chest returns, the mass of her faults weighting heavily on her heart.

“I am happy,” he meets her eyes once more, heartfelt in his declaration, “Because of you, Bedelia.”

She exhales slowly, the balm of his words taking some of the ballast off her thoughts.

“And I found that less demonstrative signs of affections are more purposeful and significant,” the incline of his head clearly indicates that he is talking about her.

She is ready to frown at this expected attempt of flattery but considers his words and her own feelings for him. There were times when she never could have imagined herself in this very moment. The line between her brows disappears as her face relaxed. She reaches out her hand to touch his cheek and Hannibal smiles at her caress. She never could have imagined these feelings would bloom so dazzlingly within her.

A day later, she returns to the empty nursery, daring to face the scene of her unsettle. She is surprised to find the toys hidden away in a carved wooden box, protective covers on the floor, and a selection of paints laid out on the table, the tubes and numerous brushes indicating Hannibal employed an artist rather than a house painter.

“When are they starting?” his steps are silent as always, but she senses his presence instantly.

“Who?” he asks, standing next to her.

“The painters,” she furrows her brows at his pointless follow up question as the scene speaks for itself.

“They are not,” Hannibal explains, turning her frown into one of puzzlement, “I thought we could decorate it ourselves. Or rather, you could, as it is your forte,” he smiles and nods his head in acknowledgement of her superior talent.

She would chastise this obvious distraction designed for her, but somehow the prospect seems appealing.

“As long as you help me,” she agrees, taking the nearest brush between her fingers and assessing its quality.

“I was assured they were the most appropriate ones to use for murals,” Hannibal explains at once, making her smile; his commitment to quality never fails to impress her.

Holding the brush, Bedelia glances at the blank, white wall, with streaks of sun spilling through a half open window; the golden light of the mid-morning reminds her of the summers she spent in France when she was a little girl. Endless fields, enchanting aromas of fragrant foliage and playful sun caressing her skin; she briefly closes her eyes remembering how carefree she felt out in the open air. She senses the breeze from their garden entering the room and soothing her face with the same warmth, but a deeper tranquillity and a never-ending freedom.

“It is perfect,” she looks at him with a smile and he knows she means more than merely the supplies.

She starts painting that very afternoon, a faint outline of a yet hidden oasis. Soon a garden landscape begins to enfold on the wall, sun enveloped trees and plants. Hannibal assists as promised, but it mostly consists of ensuring she does not stand for too long or overtire herself. He spends the remaining time engaging in art work of his own: endless sketches of her and her steadily expanding belly.

The roots of her worry soon transform into expectant buds and flowers bloom under Bedelia’s brush strokes as her frame rounds. Flourishing blossoms of the mural are occasionally met with a decisive kick of agreement from her daughter.

Bedelia smiles faintly. She looks forward to showing her the garden.

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt: Bedelia has a panic attack and Hannibal comforts her.  
> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. Comments, questions, prompts and random fangirl screams make me very happy.


End file.
